


The Colours of Love Part 2

by shinyhill



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhill/pseuds/shinyhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OK, I'm setting this up as a new part of a series, so that I can up the ratings!<br/>Still mainly Anders/Fenris, but I will be weaving in some new relationships probably as I go.<br/>Anders and Fenris have started to come to an understanding - yay! Let's see where it goes from here....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silver and Gold

Fenris was touch-starved. Had been for years. Since he had fled from Danarius on Seheron he had allowed nobody close. He rarely allowed touch at all, it was painful, but also frightening. As a slave, his body had not been his own, and Danarius had used him cruelly. He had only a few years of memories, and none of them included a relationship. Yet, he found himself clinging to this man. This mage. He felt Anders fingers stroke through his hair, and it felt so good, so right somehow. He had no desire to let go, so instead he let himself relax into it, burrowing his face into the feathers on the mage’s coat. Breathing in, he could smell elfroot, and linen, and the tea that the mage had been preparing.

\----------

Anders was touch-starved too. It had been a long time since Karl, a long time since he had joined with Justice. He had been afraid to let anyone else close after the way that Justice had torn apart Templar and Warden alike after their joining. To have this beautiful, vulnerable elf clinging to him, promising to take care of him, was almost unfathomable. Fenris had already been taking such care of him, how had he not noticed that that was why he had taken to bringing him food? That he had looked after him so well in the Deep Roads that he had starved and exhausted himself to the point of total collapse. He almost dared not believe that Fenris had come to care for him. Almost was afraid to show that he cared about the elf.

He stroked a hand through Fenris’ silvery hair and felt the elf tense slightly. As he readied himself to back away, suddenly the elf relaxed, resting his full weight against Anders and snuffling his face down into feathers on his shoulders. Anders smiled, unseen. This…this was wonderful. Determined not to spoil the moment, Anders let himself be still, one hand still gently stoking the elf’s soft hair.

Eventually, Fenris leaned back. Still holding Anders in his arms, he raised his head to look into the mage’s eyes. There was a smile on the man’s face, soft and sweet, and his honey-gold eyes were gentle. Fenris searched his face. He had no idea where to go from here, no idea what he wanted, really. Mages had been anathema to him for so long, but this mage had never harmed him. Not even when Fenris had attacked in fear and anger. Had never touched him without permission or an apology, had never tried to enslave, overpower or hurt him. He sighed. If they were to try a relationship – if the mage were even interested in such a thing after the way that Fenris had treated him in the past – Fenris had no idea how to start.

\-------------

The blanket slid from Fenris’s hips, breaking the moment as the elf yelped, turning and grabbing it from the floor. He felt blood rush to his face, and knew that his ears must be red with embarrassment. He wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, clutching it tight before turning around to face the healer once more.

“Tea?” The question took Fenris by surprise, but the mage was acting calmly, as though nothing had happened.

“Please,” he allowed, and sat on a chair, watching Anders pour the tea into mugs.

“I don’t have any food, I’m afraid. I’ll have to go and buy some. Lirene’s broth ran out last night, and I’m sure you are probably ready for something more solid by now,” Anders sipped his tea, face unreadable, and Fenris felt his ears droop. The mage was obviously not going to mention the hug. Fenris felt stupid, and the emotion made him angry. It had been…nice…the nicest touch he could remember sharing with another, but obviously it meant nothing to the healer.

“Where are my clothes, mage?” he asked gruffly, unable to keep the surly tone from his voice.

“Varric took them to have them cleaned. They should be back by this afternoon,” Anders schooled his voice to calm despite the disappointment he felt. He had tried to make Fenris feel comfortable by offering tea, by acting as normally as he could manage, but that had clearly back-fired. He wasn't sure know what Fenris wanted from him. “I need to go to the market for food. Are you up to joining me?” That should be safe, Anders figured. Fenris needed to start getting some exercise, and maybe they could just enjoy being out in the sunshine together…if it was sunny. For all Anders knew there could be a thunderstorm and hail outside. Aah, Darktown, keeping the weather a mystery for centuries.

Fenris looked up at him, surprised. Not that his clothes were unavailable, he had already assumed as much, but that the healer who had (apparently) rebuffed him was now asking him to join him for a walk. He felt confused, but he would not deny that food, real food, sounded like an incredibly good idea. “Yes. I will join you, if you are able to supply something for me to wear.” He had been longing to go outside yesterday, but in his wolf form that was not possible. Besides, he was not stupid enough to realise that, as weak as he still was, going back to the mansion alone was a bad plan. If there was any trouble he would be completely unable to defend himself. Come to think of it, if Templars or Coterie attacked Darktown he would be unable to defend himself in the clinic. No. Staying with the mage was safer.

Anders lent him a pair of pants and a tunic. He had rolled up the bottoms of the pants, and still only his toes peeked out. The neck of the tunic was too large and it kept sliding to the side and exposing one thin shoulder. “I cannot go outside like this! I look like ridiculous, like a child,” he sneered down at himself, wishing that he had his leathers on.

\---------------

“Fenris,” something in his voice made the elf’s prick up and take notice. “You look amazing,” Anders couldn’t help staring, eyes captured by the curve of Fenris’ neck where it joined his shoulder, by that one sharp collarbone and the lyrium-lined, tan flesh that was exposed. If acting normal didn’t work, then Anders was quite prepared to be as obvious as possible. He wanted more than antagonism from Fenris, he always had. Even if they could only have friendship, it would be better than their constant arguing.

Fenris watched Anders approach him, slowly, so slowly that it gave Fenris time to feel nervous. He dropped his eyes, discomfited by the open look on Anders’ face. Maybe he couldn’t do this after all. He was on the verge of turning his back when Anders reached up, his hand just inches from Fenris’ face.

“May I touch you?” Such a simple question, and yet to Fenris it meant so much. This was not Danarius, nor one of the foul magisters that Danarius had allowed to use him. His breath hitched in his throat, and he could only nod. Anders hand was so gentle against him. Fenris still couldn’t look at him, his face down, eyes averted. Anders cupped his jaw, just enough pressure to tilt Fenris’ face up to his, and then he was dropping a soft kiss on Fenris’ lips. This…this was new. Fenris had never been kissed before, not that he could remember. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of the mage’s lips pressed to his. It was…everything. Reaching out, he wrapped his arms around Anders’ waist again and pulled him closer. Anders let out a small moan, lips breaking from Fenris’ as he ran his hands up into the elf’s hair. It was only moments, but when they pulled apart, both men were breathless.

“Fenris…”

“We should move on.”

“Yes. Yes I suppose we should. Come on, let’s go get that breakfast,” Anders wasn’t surprised that Fenris had changed the subject, nor that he’d had trouble looking Anders in the eye. He led the way from the clinic, listening for the soft patter of elven feet against the floor. Together they made their way outside.

\--------------

Fenris was following Anders, head still reeling from the kiss they had shared. The way the mage had looked at him, as though he were something special. It had frightened him at first – Danarius had looked at him in a similar manner. But with Anders there was no possessiveness, no assumption of power. No need to look away… Morning sunlight was filtering down from above as the lift began to raise them towards Lowtown, and Fenris glanced up at the mage just as they emerged into the sun. His gold hair was lit up from behind, creating a halo of light around his face. Anders saw him looking and just smiled in return. The same gentle smile that he’d offered when Fenris hugged him. There was a warmth inside Fenris that had nothing to do with the sun. This feeling…perhaps this was happiness.


	2. Steel and Crimson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff - angst to follow!

The stairs up to the Hightown market had never seemed so daunting. Fenris’ legs were shaking by the time he reached the top, and it took Anders a few steps to realise that the elf was no longer at his side. He hurried back, concern on his face, to where the elf was sitting on a low ledge.

“Maker, Fenris. I’m sorry, are you alright?” His brow wrinkled in concern.

“I…will be fine. I simply need a moment,” he looked at Anders with surprise as the mage sat beside him. “You do not need to wait.”

“No, it’s fine. I remember after my knee was…hurt…It took a long time to get my strength back in that leg. It aches a lot even now.” Anders rubbed absent-mindedly at the bandages around his knee, and Fenris watched curiously. He had noticed the bandages before, of course, the mage wore them everywhere, but it had seemed part of his aesthetic rather than support for an old injury.

“What happened to your knee that you need to bandage it?” he asked. Anders shrugged.

“Templars. Bastards hobbled me after my last escape attempt. Right before they locked me up in solitary. It wasn’t my first time in solitary, but it was the longest,” Anders eyes had gone distant as he spoke, replaying the memory. Fenris was horrified. Without thought, he reached for Anders’ hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I am sorry for your pain, Anders. I…I should have listened to you earlier. I had no idea of what you had been through.” Anders smiled weakly at him, squeezing his hand lightly before releasing it. As though summoned by their conversation, a group of Templars approached from the direction of the Chantry, and Fenris growled at them reflexively, as he felt Anders stiffen beside him. They watched as the Templars passed through the market on their patrol, their steel breastplates gleaming in the sun, their ridiculous crimson skirts clinging to their legs. Fenris often wondered how they fought efficiently in those long skirts. The Templars headed off towards the Blooming Rose. After a moment, Anders stood.

“Shall we? Breakfast is sounding better and better.” Fenris nodded, still watching the spot where the Templar patrol had disappeared. He followed Anders, as the healer purchased bread, and fruit, cheese and vegetables. Anders had turned back towards the stairs to Lowtown, but Fenris stopped him.

“Come,” he said. We will eat in the mansion, and I can find some clothes that do not belong to a giant.” Anders chuckled.

“I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly normal sized Anders,” he said. “A little taller than your average Ferelden, but no giant.” Once again, Fenris started in surprise. It had occurred to him before that Anders was a word that described the people from the Andersfels, but he had failed to asked why Anders used it as a name. He huffed, angry at himself for his lack of knowledge. If he had listened to the mage rather than arguing with him all of the time, perhaps he would know more of his history. For now though, it could wait. His legs felt weak, and he needed food. He led the way to the mansion, and pushed the door open without ceremony.

“You don’t lock the door?” Anders asked curiously.

“I do not,” Fenris answered, stepping over the mushrooms growing on the foyer floor. He led the way past a corpse at the bottom of the stairs, and up to the small room that served as his home. “Half of Hightown believes the mansion haunted, according to the guardswoman. And it suits me to let them believe it. If hunters come here, let them come. They will not leave again,” he gave a feral half-smile and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving the single chair for Anders.

Anders gave him a shrewd look, and began to divide up the food. Bread and a fresh pat of butter, berries and tangy yoghurt. “Why do you always refer to people by their titles?” Anders asked, around a bite of food. Fenris quirked an eyebrow at him, considering his reply. He ate a mouthful of berries and yoghurt before answering.

“I was a slave – slaves have no use for names. Everyone is master, or mistress, or serrah. After that I lived with the Fog Warriors for a time, some among them were those who had followed the Qun. They have no need of names, people are called Sten if they are a warrior, Hissrad if they are a spy, and so on. Names are…something I have no great experience using. My name is not my own, and nor is yours, I understand?” This was quite possibly the most Anders had heard Fenris say in one sitting before, and he listened carefully, enjoying the deep, baritone so much that he almost missed the meaning.

“Anders? No it’s not my name. My name was taken from me as yours was. Anders is what the Templars in Ferelden called me, because I couldn’t speak Common when I arrived there. I was ‘the Anders boy’, and I guess it just stuck. I’ve been Anders so long now that anything else would seem strange.” He stopped to spread some butter on a slice of bread, first for himself, then another thick slice that he passed to the elf, who nodded his thanks. Fenris was eating with small bites, although he was ravenous. He was aware that he had to take care with how much he ate in each sitting.

Fenris watched as Anders ate. He would try to call the mage by name, if that pleased him, he decided. Certainly it would probably be more polite. He sighed quietly to himself. There were still many social conventions here in the south that he had not gotten used to, not to mention that he was still struggling with what it meant to be free. He would not be free until he held Danarius heart in his fist, and there was no guarantee when or if that would happen. Still, giving the mage his name was a small thing. They finished their food quietly, Fenris not managing near as much as Anders. The man had the appetite of a Grey Warden, and needed as much food as two men to feel satisfied. He looked satisfied now though, as he leaned back in his chair and stretched his long arms over his head.

Fenris rose, hunting around for a pair of pants that would fit him. He didn’t own many clothes. Two pairs of leathers, his breastplate, bracers and gauntlets. A couple of under tunics, and a pair of sleep pants. He didn’t spend money on things that would weigh him down if he needed to flee again. He located a short sleeved tunic, and a pair of black leather tights, and began stripping off the clothes that Anders had given him. Anders…who was still sitting in the chair behind him. Fenris froze for a moment, embarrassed at his own stupidity, then dressed as quickly as he could, swearing when the waist of his tights hung loose and threatened to fall off his hips. He snatched up a spare belt and managed to make them respectable, before turning to face the mage.

Anders had ben startled when Fenris removed his clothes, but he wouldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the view. He was careful to turn his face away before Fenris turned around though. He didn’t need to guess that the elf was embarrassed, the tips of his ears poking through his hair were as pink as Anders had ever seen them.

“You could stay here. I can see that you know how to look after yourself. You just need rest and good food, and an exercise routine to build your strength back up. I can’t do anything else to heal you, you know.” Fenris ducked his head. Did the mage not want his company? He knew that he wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, and that he had angered the ma…Anders, in the past. But…he was enjoying getting to know the man.

“I would be unable to defend myself alone in my condition,” he rumbled. “I would stay with you for now, if I may,” he peeked through his fringe at Anders, trying to determine what the man was thinking. Anders stepped up close to him, waiting until Fenris raised his head to look him in the eye. He leaned and kissed Fenris gently on the forehead.

“I would enjoy that.”


	3. Black and Jade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris is starting to recover. Varric is being Varric. An expedition to Sundermount has the potential to go badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some research on starvation and recovery....basically it's no solids until day three and then LOTS of protein and calories...
> 
> http://www.madsciencemuseum.com/msm/pl/great_starvation_experiment

By the time they made it back to the clinic, a line of people were waiting at the door. Elves, humans, the odd dwarf. All of them with the downtrodden look of Darktowners, shabbily dressed and with a permanent look of sharp-eyed hunger. Most of them were Ferelden refugees, some elves from the Alienage. Fenris looked them over with a suspicious eye. It concerned him that the mage worked magic down here, among the refuse of Kirkwall. Any of them could sell him out to the Templars for a bit of coin, and probably not lose any sleep over it.

Anders unlocked and lit the lantern, ushering people in to sit on the spare cots while he hung up his coat and gathered a small supply of potions and bandages before calling over the first in line. It was a woman with a young girl in her arms. The girl’s leg was broken, and she whimpered in pain as her mother lay her down on the cot. After that was a miner with an injured hand, an old man who couldn’t breathe without pain, a woman coming in for a pregnancy check-up, a sick child, a man delirious with fever, a dwarf with a badly cut leg…Anders had stopped trying to keep them all clear in his head long before midday. Some days were quieter than others, but today there was a never-ending stream.

Fenris watched the mage. He had never spent this long in the healer’s clinic before. He was amazed, knowing the number of missions that Hawke took him on, at how hard the mage worked. He watched as the man drank picked up another lyrium potion, his third of the morning, and decided it was time to step in.

“The healer needs a break. Wait outside, or come back tomorrow,” Fenris announced to the room at large. Anders turned, gaping at him.

“Fenris, I’m fine, you can’t just send my patients home!”

“I can and will, Anders,” Fenris replied, ushering the last of them out the door and closing it firmly. Anders was incensed. This was his clinic, he had made this a place of healing and salvation, and Fenris thought that he could just turn people away! Wait…had Fenris just called him by name? For once, Anders was speechless. “You need to eat, and let your mana regenerate. You cannot survive on lyrium potions for the entire day,” Fenris pushed Anders into the chair, grabbed their leftover bread and shoved it at him. “There was nobody waiting whose injuries looked severe enough that you have to work yourself to collapse.”

“You know, Fenris, you’re cute when you’re protective,” Anders smirked as the elf turned away to hide a blush. He really was though. Gruff as ever, but trying to show he cared in his own, special, Fenris way. Anders accepted the food, eating quietly until he noticed that Fenris had not taken anything for himself. “You need to eat too, Fenris.”

“There is no more. I can wait,” Fenris turned from the mage, crossing his arms with a huff. He was desperately hungry, but he wasn’t going to show weakness when he didn’t have to. He heard movement behind him, and Anders passed him an apple. He wasn’t sure where the mage found it, it was a little mealy, and bruised on one side, its pink blush turned to brown. He ate it anyway, he’d had far worse as Danarius’ slave. At least it wasn’t fish, He wrinkled his nose at the thought. He was finishing the core of the apple, not letting any of it go to waste, when he felt Anders hand on his elbow.

“Come, we’ll go to the Hanged Man and get a couple of bowls of stew. You can’t let your food intake drop again, not when you’ve just started back on solid food.” To Fenris’ utter surprise, Anders cleared the area outside of patients and turned out the lamp, waiting for him to follow.

“Your patients…,”

“Can wait. You were right, there’s nothing urgent left today, and you’re my patient too. I’m hardly any good as a healer if I let you continue to starve yourself am I.” Anders shook his head at Fenris, who followed him silently. Too quiet.

“I’m sorry I ate the last of the food, Fenris, that was thoughtless of me. I should have purchased more this morning. You need to build your strength back up, and you’ll probably find you’re eating twice as much as you’re used to until that happens. We’ll eat at the Hanged Man, and get Varric to send over some supplies for later. You’re going to need a lot of protein, too.” Anders talked on cheerfully, waiting for a response from the elf, but still there was nothing. “I’ll make sure none of it’s fish,” he turned to look at Fenris.

Fenris had wrinkled up his nose at the thought of fish. He hadn’t considered while in the Deep Roads that it might take him long to recover. Hadriana had denied him meals for days at times, and hunger wasn’t a new experience. But the type of hunger he felt now was all-encompassing. Since eating this morning it had been hard to think of anything but food. He wondered how Anders went without so often, especially with his Grey Warden metabolism. Fenris had spent weeks feeding Anders before the Deep Roads, and it had taken that long for the mage to fill out again. He hoped that he would be able to regain his own strength more quickly – weakness within himself was not something that he could easily tolerate.

\------------------

It being the middle of the afternoon, the Hanged Man was rowdy. Isabela waved from her usual spot at the bar. Some young poet had taken a fancy to her and was currently spouting nonsense about her hair. Anders grinned, and led the way up the stairs to Varric’s suite.

“Nora! Nora, my sweet, could you bring up a couple of bowls of that wonderful stew and some of Corff’s best ale for us?” Anders flirted, nabbing Nora as she walked past.

“I don’t know why I bother working here,” grouched Nora.

“It wouldn’t be the same here without your pretty face,” Anders grinned, bowing over her hand. As he was standing, he heard Fenris growling, the elf had gone stiff at his side. “Fenris, are you growling at me?”

“Do not be ridiculous, mage.”

“Oh, back to mage now are we? Well, good to know. Though I did love hearing my name in that gorgeous voice of yours.” Anders watched as Fenris looked away, a red flush on his cheeks, and laughed under his breath. If Fenris was going to growl at him for flirting with the serving girl, then he had every right to tease.

Varric was working on what looked like another of his manuscripts about Hawke when they walked in. Welcoming them both, he gathered up the papers and put them away. “What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Oh you know, free the mages,” Anders eyed Fenris cheekily, “and the slaves. Give Hawke another hobby that doesn’t involve us all following him to possible death and certain injury. Set the Maker back in the Golden City,” Anders kept up a running commentary of the impossible while Varric sat back, chuckling at him.

“Not sure I can help with any of those, Blondie, although I will say I managed to get word out that Bethany’s doing ok.” Anders flinched a little at the reminder, he had almost put it out of his head that Bethany was in the Circle now, it wasn’t something that he wished to dwell on.

“What is this about Bethany?” And there was that gorgeous, deep voice, and it sounded annoyed, and it was levelled at him. Darn.

“Uh, I forgot to tell you, Fenris. Hawke came to see me the day after we returned. Templars took her to the Circle while we were away,” Anders said, stammering a little when Fenris levelled a grade 5 frown his way. “Varric was helping Hawke to get word to her.”

Varric looked between the angry elf and the stammering apostate, who appeared to be blushing. He was wringing his hands lightly together on the table top, and when Nora arrived with the stew and ale, he set to with gusto, ducking his head to avoid the elf’s stare.

“So, Hawke’s baby sister is now in the Gallows? And you did not believe that I would wish to know? After all that you have said about mage circles, I would have thought you would be trying to break her out by now.” Fenris spoke calmly, but he was gritting his teeth, angry with Anders and concerned – for Hawke, for Bethany.

“Well, if you’ll stop being an ass for a minute, you will remember that I had something…odd…that I needed to deal with in the clinic. I hadn’t forgotten about her, it just slipped my mind is all,” Anders replied angrily, dropping his spoon into the stew bowl. He swore as he watched the spoon slide down and disappear into the depths of the murky stew. Fenris smirked, fool mage.

“I sense a story here, Blondie. Something odd in your clinic – you gonna elaborate on that, or do I have to make it up as I go.” The dwarf’s eyes sparkled as he looked from man to elf and back again. Fenris was still smirking, watching Anders try to retrieve his slippery spoon. Anders meanwhile was swearing at his burnt fingers. He dropped the spoon to blow on his fingertips and watched mournfully as it slid under the stew again. Fenris laughed. A full-body laugh, waving his hands in the air and throwing his head back. Varric watched with interest as Anders elbowed him in the ribs, only to get more laughter back. Now that was different. Any other day and Fenris would have threatened to tear his arm out at the shoulder joint.

It was good to see the elf up and about though, and laughing no less. Varric felt at least partially responsible for his condition. He waved a hand to get Nora’s attention as she wandered past the doorway. “Nora, some of that apple pie if there’s any left, plenty of cream. And send up some more ale.” Varric hadn’t finished speaking before Anders was rushing to speak over him, half-standing and almost upsetting his bowl of stew into his lap. Fenris grabbed it as it started to spill.

“Can we have the cream in a jug on the side, Nora darling?” Nora threw her hands in the air, nodding, and walked on. Anders grinned as he turned around and sat back down, completely oblivious to his almost stew-disaster. Fenris pushed the bowl back in front of him, spoon scraping around noisily somewhere in the depths.

“What was that about Blondie? You gone off cream?”

“Ah, no…Fenris shouldn’t be having fatty foods yet. Not a lot of them at least, and he had butter this morning. Need to keep up the protein so he can build up his muscle-mass. I was planning to ask you to send some supplies over for us,” Anders batted his eyelashes sweetly at Varric, who laughed at him, and scrubbed at his chest hair.

“Anything for you, Blondie.”

“Oh. And no fish, please,” this was directed at Varric, while Anders looked at Fenris with a smile. Varric watched, his imagination ticking over, as Fenris gave him a half-smile back. Fenris’ stew was gone already, while Anders had yet to successfully retrieve his spoon. When the apple pie arrived, Varric just kept watching as Anders served Fenris an immense slice, then nodded approvingly as the elf ate. This pair would take some watching…everyone loved a good enemies to lovers story after all.

\--------------------

A week had passed, with food care packs delivered by Varric every morning. Fenris had taken to helping Anders, cleaning and rolling bandages, crushing herbs for potions and salves. It was peaceful on quiet days like today, and the work was easy. He’d recovered some of the weight that he had lost, but his muscle tone was still poor. He could have gone back to the mansion days ago, his lyrium his best defence against any who might come for him, but he found spending time with the mage soothing. They hadn’t spoken of the hugs and kiss that they had shared, and Fenris wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He suspected Anders was unsure too. Their relationship was unstable, varying from wild disagreements, to attraction, to the somehow shared need to protect one another. It made Fenris’ head ache to think about it.

Anders, on the other hand, thought about little else lately. He’d made the decision to back off, let the elf come to terms with whatever it was he felt. He’d noticed that Fenris had taken to calling him by name since their discussion at the mansion, but the elf had offered him no other closeness. Having him in close proximity day and night was driving Anders crazy. The feel of Fenris’ lips against his, the soft fall of his hair…If it wasn’t for Justice, Anders would have given in to his desires by now. Justice had been restless, the elf’s lyrium brands providing a constant call to him. He hadn’t done anything untoward though, for which Anders was grateful. He didn’t want to scare Fenris away again now that they were finally (mostly) getting along.

A shout at the door had them both flinching, it had been quiet today, and the clinic had been empty. “Anders!” It was Varric’s voice, and the dwarf strolled in. “Got time for a trip out with Hawke? He’s had word of some trouble up on Sundermount.” Anders glanced at Fenris, but the elf wasn’t looking at him. He shrugged, there wasn’t much happening here today, and he could use the chance to grab some more herbs.

“Sure. What’s happening up there?”

“Oh, you know Hawke, always with his ear to the ground,” Varric chuckled. “Slavers maybe, bandits, tal-vashoth – I didn’t stay hang around long enough to get the details. He and Isabela were too busy flirting to notice I left, I think.”

“Hawke and Isabela? I thought he was after Merrill?” Varric just grinned.

“Daisy’s a little too innocent for his liking. All that flirting just went over her head. Isabela on the other hand…You know Isabela, anything that’s willing and available.” Anders snorted, and grabbed his coat and staff.

“You coming with, Broody?” Varric asked, and Fenris finally looked up.

“I…yes, I will come. Although I do not have all my strength back. If the healer is going, then I will accompany you.” Varric lifted an eyebrow at Anders, who resolutely ignored him, while packing a few extra healing potions just in case.

Fenris strapped on his breastplate, bracers and gauntlets, and swung his sword onto his back, grunting at the weight. Perhaps he should switch to a short-sword and dagger for a time. No matter, there was no time to hunt down a different set of weapons now. Whatever it was, the group would take care of it, he could always drop the sword and ghost if need be. Varric led the way to the Hanged Man to meet Hawke.

\-----------------

The trip up Sundermount had been quiet, but Fenris felt ill at ease. His brands ached and itched, his feet hurt, and he couldn’t settle. They would be camping with Merrill’s clan tonight, then heading up the mountain in the morning. Hawke needed to fill a special order for Solivitus, the apothecary in the Galllows. It wasn’t much of a job, but it gave Fenris the chance to stretch his legs, and build up some much-needed strength.

They settled in, tents pitched behind the elves aravels, closer to the mountain. They had three tents between them, and it was fairly obvious that Hawke and Isabela would be sharing one. The two had been handsy all the way up the mountain. Varric took the middle tent, leaving Anders and Fenris to the last. If Hawke was surprised that the two were sharing a tent after what had happened last time, he said nothing.

Fenris entered the tent after Anders, finding the other man already stretched out on his bedroll, arms behind his head. “Fenris…I’ve been working on a couple of potions, no, lotions really. I thought we might experiment with them and see if they can take some of the pain from your markings away,” Anders rolled his head towards Fenris, who had frozen in the act of removing his breastplate. Seeing that he was being watched, he continued unbuckling it, then removed his other armour and his leather tunic before seating himself.

“You have thought to do such a thing for me?” Anders nodded, watching Fenris’ face.

“Is that OK? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I just…it hurts to see you suffering when I could try to help. I’m a healer, it’s something I need to do.” He was watching Fenris carefully, the elf had his head bowed, gaze carefully averted. Anders watched, horrified, as a tear slid down and dripped from the tip of his chin. “Fenris! I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again! I didn’t mean to upset you!”

“Fool, mage, be silent.” Fenris leaned forward, draping himself over Anders and letting himself be held as he wept silently. That the mage…that Anders had been thinking of him, trying to help him. It meant a lot. Eventually they curled up together on the bedrolls, Fenris held close in Anders arms, and slept.

\-------------------

Justice woke Anders while it was still dark. The spirit nudged at his awareness until he woke. Eyes still closed, he sent an irritated query back.

YOU MUST WAKE UP, THE ELF WILL NEED YOUR ASSISTANCE. That had Anders scrubbing at his face, and sitting up, blinking blearily in the dim light inside the tent. Beside him was Fenris, curled up and sleeping peacefully – in his wolf form. Oh…crap. The Dalish here had had trouble with werewolves before, they weren’t going to tolerate a wolf in their camp, not even a little one.

Anders took a minute to admire the black wolf, its coat and muscles looking much healthier now that Fenris had begun regaining weight. He reached out a hand and stroked one pointed ear, tugging it gently and whispering Fenris’ name. Fenris’ ear twitched, and he pushed his muzzle into Anders hand, whuffing softly. Anders chuckled, tugging at his ears again, “Feeennnrriiiss, wake up, sleepy head.”

There was a disgruntled whine, and a low, grumbling growl. Anders had noticed that Fenris wasn’t a morning person, seemed that was the truth whatever form he was in. He ran a hand down the wolf’s ribs. “Come on, you need to wake up,” he whispered urgently, close to the wolf’s ear and was finally rewarded with the opening of one pale jade eye. Fenris tried to rub his eyes, and dragged a paw across his muzzle instead. He raised his head, jade eyes fixed on black paw before turning to Anders and whining, puppy eyes and all.

“Yes, you’ve woken up all wolfy again. We’re going to need to sneak you out of here before the Dalish see you, unless you can change back now?” Anders asked hopefully. Fenris closed his eyes, concentrating, trying to force the change, but it was no use. He growled, deep and low. Why was this happening again? He would be of little use to Hawke if he couldn’t control his form, and he didn’t want the rest of their friends to find out. Fenris. The little wolf. He didn’t want to hear Isabela’s jokes, or endure Merrill’s excited, eager questions. He didn’t want Varric to write about him.

Anders shushed him and stepped over him to exit the tent. The camp was quiet, the stillness of pre-dawn in the air. He could see two sentries guarding the main entrance to the camp, and another standing on their side of the aravels, his attention drifting between the aravels and the side of the mountain. He didn’t seem to be looking their way, and Anders cautiously waved Fenris forward. The wolf nuzzled at his hand, and Anders smiled, running a hand across his head. “Two sentries by the entrance, one mid-camp. I don’t think he’s looking, but be careful. Will I tell the others you had to leave in the night?” Fenris nodded, and with a flick of his black brush was off, slinking around to the back of the tents and away. Anders sighed, this was going to be tricky.


	4. Blue and Copper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke loses his temper, closely followed by Justice losing his. Anders and Fenris kissing in the woods!

“What the fuck, Anders? You let him go alone?” Hawke was furious when he found that Fenris had gone, and was letting Anders be the target of his rage. Isabela and Varric were standing behind him, shifting uncomfortably as their leader ranted at the healer, who so far had remained calm.

“Yes, Hawke. He needed to leave, and I let him go. What did you want me to do, tie him down?” The punch to the face, he was not expecting. Anders felt his nose break, and his head whipped back from the force of the blow. He stood, hands shaking with anger as Hawke continued to rant at him.

“I would have thought you would have had more sense! He didn’t even take his fucking sword – what if he runs into hunters out there? Maker. I don’t know why I bother, it’s no secret that you can’t stand him. You’d be glad if he got taken wouldn’t you?” Hawke turned away as he shouted, only to see Varric looking at him disapprovingly. The dwarf shook his head.

“You stepped over a line there, Hawke,” he said softly. Isabela was staring wide-eyed over Hawke’s shoulder, and he turned to see Justice looming over him, eyes glowing with a fury he had never seen in the spirit before.

GARRETT HAWKE, YOUR ACTIONS ARE UNJUST, the spirit spoke, oblivious to the blood pouring over Anders’ mouth and down his chin. ANDERS DOES NOT DESERVE YOUR RAGE, AND WE WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS PHYSICAL ABUSE. THE ELF’S REASONS ARE HIS OWN AND NOT TO BE SHARED. DO NOT FOLLOW US, ANDERS NEEDS TIME ALONE. AND YOUR APOLOGY, WOULD YOU WISH HIM TO BE AT YOUR SIDE IN FUTURE. Ignoring Hawke’s sputtering, the spirit walked away, Fade-blue flickering over Ander’s body. He gathered Anders pack and staff and Fenris’ sword before leaving, wandering into the forest away from Sundermount and the rest of the team.

\------------

Hawke was not ready to admit that he had screwed things up. He rarely was. He insisted that they head up Sundermount anyway, despite protests from Varric and Isabela. While they were trudging up the mountainside, Justice was making his way deeper into the forest.

\---------------

_Justice, let me out, I have to heal my nose._

UNJUST! The spirit was still angry and didn’t want to relinquish control, but Anders pressed him.

 _Is it not unjust for you to take over like that? Let me heal myself! We’ll go and find Fenris and make sure he’s alright._ Justice grumbled a bit more before letting Anders come to the fore, and the healer pressed his hands to his sore face, gripping his nose tightly and pulling it back into alignment with a gasp, before healing it with a burst of magic. He released a relieved sigh, and sat for a moment, resting his head in his hands.

Damn Hawke, and damn his right hook. He had expected the explanation not to go over well, but he hadn’t expected Hawke to get physical over it. Not that there had been much of an explanation, because what could Anders say that wouldn’t give away anything that Fenris might not want known. It hadn’t been until Hawke realised that Fenris had left without his sword that his rage really peaked.

Anders shook his head, sending stray wisps of blonde hair floating around his head. And what Hawke had said! That he would be glad if hunters took Fenris while he was vulnerable. Andraste’s arse! Was that what the man really thought of him? Maybe this was just Hawke finally losing what little control he’d had since Bethany was taken. Still, it hadn’t been pleasant. He’d seen the look on Varric’s face though, and thought that the dwarf might have an inkling that things were better between himself and Fenris now. Certainly he had more of an idea than Hawke.

Anders opened his pack, dragging out a blanket, and carefully wrapping his staff and Fenris’ sword, before securing them to the base of the pack and slinging it on his back. Even after years of knowing this spell, he wasn’t sure how this part worked, but whatever he was carrying with him came with him when he changed to his cat form. Which was a good thing, truly, because the sword was _heavy_. No wonder Fenris slouched so often. Even with his strength, it must weigh down his spine significantly.

Raising his hands, he cast the spell, and with a soft glow, Anders disappeared, the large copper and cream tabby appearing instead. He waited a few moments to get his bearings, his vision now much closer to the ground and not as good at distinguishing between colours as his human vision was. His senses of smell and hearing though were now many, many times stronger, and he began to scout around for a hint of Fenris’ scent.

\-------------

Fenris had found a hollow to sleep out the remaining hour of darkness. Dawn found him out and hunting. Hunger gnawed at him, and he knew that he had to try to keep up his food intake. He was on the trail of a young rabbit when Anders found him, leaping from atop a stump that Fenris was slinking around on the rabbit’s trail. Fenris leaped several feet in the air, letting out a shameful yip. It had turned into a horrifying snarl with raised hackles before he realised what he was facing, but Anders just raised a paw and smacked him on the nose, before turning away and licking calmly at his flank.

Fenris bristled a little, before coming closer to sniff at the cat. Anders scent was familiar and welcome, but Fenris had to wonder what he was doing here. He whuffed at the cat, pricking his ears, and turning his head on the side. A pair of golden eyes gave him an unfathomable cat stare. He snorted, and pushed at the cat with his nose. If Anders wasn’t going to explain, then he wanted to get back to hunting for the rabbit he’d been distracted from. Anders whapped him with a paw again, and without thinking, he swiped back, knocking the cat on his back.  


Anders leapt up with a glare, and then they were wrestling. It ended with Anders paws wrapped around Fenris’ neck, teeth closed on one ear, and back feet buffeting the wolf in the chest and wherever else he could reach. Fenris lifted his head and shook it until he fell off, then picked Anders up by the scruff and gave him a shake. There was a glow, and suddenly Fenris had his jaws wrapped around Anders neck, the man stretched full length on the ground and laughing, wolf feet planted firmly either side of his torso. Impulsively he reached up and pulled the wolf into a hug, pleasantly surprised when Fenris allowed it, snuffling at his neck.

“So, let me get you up to date,” Anders said, sitting up. He wriggled his pack off his back and dragged out a length of dried beef, throwing it to Fenris while he helped himself to an orange. “Hawke wasn’t happy you left. Bastard broke my nose because I’d let you go off on your own,” he looked up at a fierce growl from the wolf, and pointed at his nose. “All better now, magic fingers, remember,” he said with a cheeky wiggle of his hands. “Justice took over and gave him a talking to. Then I came to look for you. You doing alright?” Fenris stomach growled and Anders laughed. He threw another strip of meat and a bread roll at Fenris, watching as Fenris snatched them out of the air and wolfed them down.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea why this happened again?” Fenris shook his head around a mouthful of tough beef. “Hawke…he accused me of wanting hunters to catch you,” he said cautiously, glancing sidelong at Fenris. Fenris watched silently, pale jade eyes fixed on the healer’s face. “I just wanted you to know…I wouldn’t let that happen to you, Fenris.” Fenris trotted over, resting his head on Anders’ knee. The trust he was showing awed Anders, and he gently ran a hand along the wolf’s back, burying his fingers in thick, ebony-coloured fur.

Without warning, Fenris’ body _rippled_ under his hand, and a moment later it was an elf’s head on his knee, and his hand was resting on the back of the elf’s tunic. Anders’ eyes were wide, eyebrows raised. He had felt no magic, it was as though the change were a natural part of Fenris’ being. “Fenris?” he whispered, somehow afraid to make a sound and startle the elf. Fenris turned his head to look in Anders’ eyes, a curious expression on his face. Somehow the elf never seemed to notice at first when he changed, Anders had noticed it that morning in the tent, and the morning he woke on Fenris’ feet in the clinic. The elf’s face was so open and trusting in that moment, and Anders couldn’t help himself. Cupping Fenris’ face in his hands, he drew him in for a kiss.

A little surprised whine escaped Fenris’ throat when Anders lips pressed to his, followed by a soft moan. Anders drank in the sounds, made for him. His tongue teased at Fenris’ bottom lip, and the elf relaxed into the kiss, letting Anders taste him and coax him up, until the elf was sitting in the circle made by Anders’ legs, his thighs around the healer’s waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! Yes, I am finished the chapter there! More to come soon, promise.


	5. Pink and Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harlot's blush, rage demon, reminiscences and more.

Fenris was the one to end the kiss, pulling away from Anders, but slowly, gently, as though he were afraid to hurt the man. His face was flushed, lips pink. Anders could watch that forever. He frowned a little as Fenris dipped his head. The elf was almost panting, and he seemed distressed. Anders caught himself reaching out, wanting to reassure him.

Fenris was standing before he knew it, turning away so that Anders couldn’t see the look on his face. “Fenris…it’s alright…”

“No! It is not. I…I cannot…Forgive me.” Anders bit his lip, watching the way that Fenris’ fists were squeezed tightly shut, the line of his back tense, shoulders trembling.

“Fenris, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…Maker, Fenris. There’s nothing for you to apologise for. I shouldn’t have…,” Anders felt dreadful. He’d kissed the elf without asking or being sure that it was what he wanted, after he’d sworn never to do that. Justice stirred, troubled by Anders feeling that he had been unjust. When Anders looked up again, Fenris was pacing, back and forth, fingers curling and uncurling inside his sharp gauntlets. He stopped, face wretched, and refusing to meet Anders eyes.

“I…I am not free until Danarius is dead. I have nothing to offer you, Anders. You deserve a better…” he didn’t get to finish, Anders surging to his feet and hugging the elf tightly to him.

“I don’t want anyone else, you silly elf. I only want you, all prickly and wolfy as you are,” he teased, turning Fenris’ face so that he could look in those gorgeous, green eyes. This time it was Fenris who kissed him, desperately, as though he couldn’t get his fill. Anders groaned, pulling the elf closer and grinding shamelessly against him. Fenris pulled back again, ears and cheeks a delightful matching pink.

“A…Anders, I don’t…not yet, I can’t,” Anders loosed his hold, but didn’t let the elf go. He pressed a kiss to the elf’s forehead.

“Your pace, Fen. You’re just so…beautiful. I got a little carried away,” Anders grinned, ruefully, rubbing a hand through mussed blonde hair. He sucked in a breath as Fenris ran those long, lithe fingers up into his hair, and leaned into him, face tucked in the crook of his shoulder as he stroked Anders hair back from his face, and settled slender arms around his neck.

\------------

Hawke, Isabela and Varric had reached the top of Sundermount unscathed, searching the mountain-top graveyard for the Harlot’s Blush requested by Solivitus. Finally they found it. Tucked in a corner behind some low scrub, the rare flower’s pink-and-yellow glow caught Isabela’s eye first. She gave a squeal, and picked the flower, dancing up to Hawke triumphantly and popping it into her cleavage. Varric shook his head, Isabela would always be Isabela.

Of course it was then that the undead chose to attack. Varric grabbed Bianca, and shot down the first two, Isabela spinning to take out one behind her, and then vanishing in a puff of smoke. Varric tried to track her progress from the random puffs of smoke and falling corpses. Hawke was whirling and stabbing, a dagger in both hands. All would have been fine, if not for the rage demon that surged up from the ground almost directly underneath where Isabela had just materialised. The pirate fell back with a decidedly unladylike yell, and Varric and Hawke took out the demon between them. Isabela was still down, swearing a blue-streak at the long burn that covered her side from the top of one leather-clad leg up and over her hip.

“And this, Hawke, is why you don’t piss off the healer,” Varric said, sheathing Bianca, and checking his belt for a healing potion. He tossed it to Isabela, and she downed it in one, holding her hand out for another almost immediately. Varric tossed it to her. “That’s my last, Rivaini. Got any bandages, Hawke? Salve? We’re going to need to cover that until Anders can get a look at it.”

Hawke was hovering. For an experienced rogue and mercenary, he really did have a terrible way of coping with injuries and difficulties, which is to say, he didn’t. Failing to find any bandages, Hawke ended up stripping down to his skin and tearing strips off his shirt to fashion a bandage from. Varric frowned as he wrapped the makeshift bandage around Isabela’s leg and up around her hips. It wasn’t the best job, and there was no salve. The healing potions had taken the edge off, but the wound was still red and weeping and he knew that she would need Anders’ touch to heal the wound properly without leaving a scar. Varric refrained from saying the obvious though, as Hawke lifted Isabela, and they made the trek back down to the Dalish camp.

\------------

Anders was still nowhere to be found when they arrived, and it took a bit of the famous Varric charm to explain the situation to Keeper Marethari and secure her help. The Keeper was compassionate, and a strong mage, but her specialty wasn’t healing like Anders’ was. A salve and proper bandaging was provided however, and the Keeper was able to partialy heal the burn. The rest would have to heal by itself.

Hawke was out of sorts when they sat around the campfire that evening, a morose look on his face. Varric kept half an eye on him, shuffling his ever-present cards and dealing out a hand. Isabela was resting, so it was just the two of them. Varric kept his mouth shut. Hawke had acted like an arse, let him come to it by himself.

After a few ales, the big man sighed, scrubbing a hand at his face. “Go on, say it. I can hear you thinking it.”

“And what would that be, Hawke?” Varric kept his eyes on the cards.

“Hawke, you’re an idiot. You pissed off the only healer in the party. And the only spirit…I’ve really cocked it up this time, haven’t I.” Hawke looked so miserable that Varric had to answer.

“Honestly, Hawke? Yeah. You were an arse. And Anders didn’t deserve to have his nose broken because Fenris chose to do his own thing. You’re going to have to make things right with him, you know?” Varric looked up over his mug of stout, eyeing Hawke for any sign that he’d gone too far.

“I know, I know. And Justice was right. I was abusive, and I’m sorry,” he took a long draught of ale, throat bobbing.

“I’m not the one you need to be apologising to, Hawke. Head for the clinic when we get back. Anders is pretty understanding. Just, apologise to him…and maybe to Justice. He was pretty pissed.” Varric chuckled. “Bet you’ve never had a spirit pissed off with you before.”

“No, I’ve seen his handiwork though. Maker! Remember that night at the Chantry, I almost had to change my smalls the way he tore those Templars apart.” The two reminisced for a while, the tension broken, before heading off to their respective tents.


	6. Tan and Cream - Revisited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Argh, smut happened.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just some research notes about slavery, whipping, and lyrium warrors....
> 
> https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/family-secrets/201405/psychological-slavery  
> https://prezi.com/x7nhxy6_o8ti/the-physical-and-psychological-effects-of-slavery-on-the-sla/
> 
> "Some Tevinter magisters infuse lyrium into their slaves' skin, making them formidable warriors.[30] The agonizing process also makes the victims more biddable, with the potential side effect of lost memories.[30][31] Touching the markings may be physically painful.[31] Thus, lyrium tattoos greatly enhance Fenris's warrior talents, making him hard to track, giving him magic resistance, and generating bursts of damaging spirit energy. They even grant him the ability to phase through solid objects, an act that taps into the Fade." (Bioware DA Wiki)

Neither Fenris, nor Anders were in any rush to return to Kirkwall. Fenris was feeling embarrassed about his inability to control his change, and shy about this blossoming relationship with the mage; Anders was still angry with Hawke. Justice was quiet, crooning happily when Anders stayed near the elf. All of that lyrium quieted the spirit, and Anders was content to let him be, a crooning presence in the back of his mind. To Anders, having Fenris near was like a holiday from Justice’s constant push to have him work to free mages, labour over his manifesto, heal to the point of exhaustion.

They had finished eating, and Anders was watching Fenris as he stood and sheathed his sword with the ease of long familiarity. Together they began to walk, no particular destination in mind, the silence comfortable between them, rather than antagonistic. Anders reached out his hand, and was pleased when Fenris took it. The way Fenris touched him was not what Anders had expected of the gruff warrior. Fenris held his hand so gently, as though he were afraid to hurt. And perhaps he was, Anders reflected. This same hand could rip people’s hearts out of their chests, could wield a mighty sword to tear bodies apart.

Anders remembered his terror at waking after Justice joined him, realising that he, his body at least, had been used to destroy the bodies that surrounded him. More than one body had had its head severed from its shoulders, without the benefit of any weapon at all. It had taken a long time for Anders to recover from the shock, realising that Justice’s spirit gave him this insane, inhuman strength when he took over. Anders had been terrified to let anyone close, afraid that the spirit would take control and hurt people without his knowledge. Just like what had happened the first time he and Fenris had shared a tent. Thankfully, Fenris had been unharmed, but things could have been much worse. He shuddered, squeezing the elf’s hand.

Fenris turned to him with a questioning look and a return squeeze. Anders shook his head. “Just thinking…about Justice. You have no idea how happy I am that he didn’t harm you that night. I was so afraid that I would find you injured.”

“Your dem…spirit…frightens me at times,” admitted Fenris, his voice low and quiet. “Will you tell me how you came to join with him? You are a good man, Anders, but…you are everything that I fear as well. A mage, an abomination…I confess, at times I do not understand what draws me to you,” Fenris looked down, shuffling his feet nervously. He didn’t want to upset Anders, or have the man turn him away, but he thought that perhaps, if he had answers, understanding the man would be easier.

Anders laughed, nervously. “To make a very long story short, Justice got trapped in the body of a dead Grey Warden, Kristoff. Kristoff’s body began to decay, and nobody knew what was going to happen to Justice. He was stuck here on this side of the Veil and unable to return to the Fade. He…he was my friend, Fenris, and I agreed to let him join with me because…well, as usual I was trying to help. I’ve thought about it a lot since then. Justice is a spirit, he’s…inhuman, in that he IS the virtue of Justice, he can’t…no, he shouldn’t be concerned with anything else. I worry that being trapped on this side of the Veil, being forced to deal with worldly emotions and issues will warp him from Justice into Vengeance. That’s how a spirit becomes a demon – something turns them from their true purpose, and they change.”

“I see,” and Fenris did see. Anders could be impulsive, at times failing to think things through. According to Isabela’s stories, he had been much more impulsive and happy-go-lucky in his youth. But, yes, Anders would try to help a spirit, just as he tried to help any of the people who made it to his door. Just as he had helped the stray wolf unexpectedly appearing in his clinic one morning. It made sense, that rather than seeking power, the healer had been offering compassion and assistance. Fenris said nothing more, thinking and walking, Anders hand still held in his own. He had removed his gauntlets and shoved them in his pack, and his bare hands felt like a vulnerability. He was glad though, to feel Anders warm skin against his own.

Anders walked on, memories at war with the present in his mind. Fenris thought he was a good man? That was as sweet as it was unexpected. That he was everything Fenris feared – that was…kind of scary actually. The more time they spent together, the more Anders _wanted_ Fenris to like him, to trust him. The last thing he wanted from the elf was his fear. And the elf’s admission that Justice _did_ scare him, that he was drawn to Anders despite his own misgivings…Anders wasn’t sure how to deal with that, but just to go one step at a time.

The forest had begun to thin around them by the time Anders looked up. The trees here were smaller, saplings and shrubs for the most part, and there was a clearing ahead. A small stream ran through it, pooling in a hollow in the centre. The water was clear and the air bright, the only sounds were birds and the rustle of leaves in the canopy, the murmur of the stream as it wound its way onward. The sky was blue overhead, and the sun was beating down now as it neared midday. They had been wandering along for hours, no destination in mind, and the cool pool looked inviting. Anders stopped, tugging at Fenris’ hand.

“Shall we cool off?” he suggested. The notion appeared to have occurred to Fenris as well, because he agreed readily, stripping off his armor and tunic without any more said. Anders watched as all of that lyrium-lined tan flesh came on display. Truth to tell he was a little worried to remove his own clothes, but he was certainly enjoying the show that Fenris was putting on.

The elf was unself-conscious. It was nothing that Anders hadn’t seen before, and the trickle of sweat that was running down his back made a dip sound very inviting. He was surprised then, when he pulled off undertunic to find Anders standing still, fully dressed and a nervous expression on his face. “Anders?”

“Hmm?” Anders glanced at him, eyes sliding away as soon as he’d made eye-contact.

“I…You do not want to look at me,” Fenris’ own gaze fell. Of course the mage would not want him. He was damaged goods. Danarius had told him again and again how terrifying he looked, how he was a living weapon. How could anyone desire something so…mutilated.

“Oh, Maker Fenris, you couldn’t be more wrong. Look at yourself! You’re so gorgeous, and I’m…I’m afraid to take off my shirt,” he gave a little, self-deprecating laugh, hands fluttering aimlessly at his sides. Dropping pack and staff, he began to work on the laces of his boots, unaware of Fenris’ confused expression.

“Do not lie to me, mage! I know what I am, what I look like. This…this,” he paused, lost for a way to describe how he felt. “Even my skin is not my own,” he sighed. “I will understand if you do not wish to touch me anymore.” Anders looked up, shocked. For a few minutes he was speechless, which was terribly unlike him, and made Fenris sag even further, his ears drooping. It was adorable. It was sad. Anders wanted to hold him forever, and tell him that everything was alright – even if they both knew that it was a lie.

He stood quickly, forgetting that one boot was half on and half off and staggered into Fenris’ strong arms. The elf pulled him up, then stepped backwards, putting some distance between them. Anders took his hands and held them tightly, waiting for Fenris to look at him. “Fen, love, you would have been a handsome man, elf, without these markings. Your body is perfect, those long, muscular legs, your beautiful eyes. You are stunning. And I fucking hate Danarius for what he did to you, but…the lyrium doesn’t make you ugly. It accentuates everything. Those swirling lines on your arms – they show your muscles, and the clean lines of your body. The ones on your throat – they just make me look at your neck and want to kiss it. You’re so…perfect. You’re perfect. And me, I’m just a man, and I have scars of my own, and I just…didn’t want you to look at me like the way you thought I would look at you,” he finished rapidly, the words running together.

Fenris was looking at him, eyes still a little disbelieving, but his ears had perked up again, and were blushing that pretty pink. He hmmmed, and then with a determined look, he started unbuckling Anders’ coat. After a moment when Anders irrationally didn’t know whether to laugh or cry (and finally decided that maybe neither was good), he helped, unchaining his feather pauldrons, and slipping them off. The elf had removed his coat, and was tugging his shirt free from his pants. Anders grabbed at his shirt hem, holding it down. It had become instinct to avoid being naked in front of others by now.

“Let me,” he whispered, and pulled the shirt over his head, wrapping his arms around his torso as he did, suddenly feeling more uncomfortable under another person’s gaze than he had for years. The scars weren’t limited to his back, but that was where the bulk of them were. Fenris reached towards him with a hand, stopping just short of touching him.

“Don’t… don’t hide yourself from me, Anders,” his deep voice was so soft. Anders let Fenris tug his arms down, steeling himself for the revulsion the elf would undoubtedly feel when he saw the whole, terrible map that the scars of whippings and tortures had left on his body. Instead he felt warm fingers, and the tingle of lyrium against his skin, as Fenris touched the biggest scar, under his heart. “How…?”

“Justice. I wouldn’t have survived that one, if it weren’t for him.” Fenris hands continued their slow exploration, dropping down Anders ribs to caress the battle scars that he had collected – some from his time at Vigil’s Keep, some from running along behind Hawke. He felt the moment when Fenris’ fingertips became aware of the scars on his back, and the elf turned him gently. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then those fingers were softly running along the worst of the whipping scars, raised, lumpy strips of skin from when he had been unable to heal the damage. He felt Fenris’ arms wrap around him, and then he was back to chest with the elf, warm skin and lyrium covering his back.

“These…these are whipping scars…I have seen them before. Venhedis! I have caused them before when Danarius forced me to ‘punish’ other slaves. Was it Templars?” Anders nodded, silent. Fenris had been forced to whip other slaves? He felt bile rise in his throat, wanting again to punish Danarius for what he had done. “Anders, look at me.” Fenris turned him, cupping his jaw and making Anders face him. “You can see past my scars. Why did you not think that I would see past yours? These…markings have never been anything to me but mutilations.” Anders stiffened in his grasp, opening his mouth to speak, before Fenris scowled, laying a finger on his lips to shush him. “I didn’t choose them, any more than you chose what has happened to you. Just be glad that they didn’t shave your head,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment. Anders mouth dropped open, then he closed it with a snap.

“Is that so, elf? My hair, is it?” Anders tugged his hair-tie loose, letting his red-gold hair catch the light of the sun, and peering through it teasingly at Fenris.

“Hmmm, fool mage.” Was the only reply he got before Fenris was grabbing handfuls of his hair and using it to tug him close into a devastating kiss. Maker, the elf meant it this time. He kissed like someone drowning, and Anders was only too happy to respond. He groaned, cock springing to hardness, and he could feel Fenris’ pressing against his thigh. Andraste’s knickers, how was he going to keep himself under control.

“F…Fenris, stop!” Fenris was looking up at him with that same open, wide-eyed look on his face from this morning, and Anders was panting like a teenager. “You don’t know what you do to me!”

“I think I have a fairly good idea,” Fenris smirked, running a hand up the inside of Anders’ thigh and brushing it against the base of his balls. He squeezed the top of Anders inner-thigh, and Anders gasped.

“You…you are cheeky!” Anders grinned, then dropped to his knees, tugging at the elf’s waistband with his fingertips. He looked up to make sure Fenris was ok with this, smiling when the elf gave him a shaky nod. He eased the tight leathers down, freeing Fenris’ cock. He nuzzled against it, tongue darting out to taste, to tease. Fenris tasted like sweat and lyrium and leather, and himself. Anders swallowed him down, smiling as he heard Fenris swearing in Tevene above him. Long fingers buried themselves in his hair as he sucked, hard, before pulling back, laving his tongue along the underside of Fenris’ cock and teasing at the tip. He swirled his tongue around the head, before swallowing him down again. Anders loosened his pants, pushing them down one-handed so that he could take himself in hand, stroking and squeezing.

Before long, Fenris’ legs were shaking, and he was clutching at Anders’ hair like it was a lifeline. It felt so good. His hips stuttered, and Anders hands rose to grip his buttocks, encouraging him to thrust. Anders hummed, and moaned, the vibrations driving him to the edge, and Fenris shouted and swore as be bucked his release. It was enough to push Anders over the edge, and he came with a groan, still swallowing Fenris down, mouth working on him until the sensitivity was too great and Fenris pulled his head away.

The taste of Fenris - laced with lyrium, Justice was crooning of the Fade in the back of his mind, but Anders didn’t mind at all. He licked his lips, looking up at Fenris with a satisfied look in his half-lidded eyes and pulled the elf down to his knees for a lazy kiss.

Fenris could taste himself on the mage’s tongue; it was…intoxicating. He pushed back on Anders’ shoulders, until the man was laying back on the grass. The creamy skin of his naked shoulders was warm and welcoming, and Fenris kissed and licked along his collarbones. He bit into the join of neck and shoulder, feeling the mage shudder beneath him. _Mine_! The thought was fierce enough to take him by surprise, and he backed off a little, staring into Anders’ honey-gold eyes. He stood, offering a hand to Anders and pulling him up. They looked at each other, and laughed a little. “How about that swim,” the mage said, when Fenris seemed to have no words to offer.

The water was cool, pleasant against skin sweaty with heat and sex, and the two relaxed, lolling in the sunlight as the stream washed over them. “You had better get out of the sun, soon Anders,” Fenris cautioned, noticing that Anders nose and shoulders were beginning to redden already. Anders brushed at the red skin, scowling.

“You and your gorgeous Tevinter skin,” he scoffed.

“Seheron,” Fenris remarked. “Apparently my family were from Seheron. I don’t remember them, but I’ve been to Seheron. It’s hot and damp. you would hate it,” he finished, with a fond grin at the mage.

“I’m sorry for everything that bastard did to you, Fenris. He took so much from you… If he ever turns up here looking for you, I swear I will tear him limb from limb myself.” Anders frowned, and Fenris reached out, taking his hand, soothing his thumb along the mages palm.


	7. Smoke and Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to Kirkwall for Anders and Fenris - but what will they find there?

“Fenris.”

“Hmm?” They were lying in the shade, drying off after their swim, and Anders had spent some time thinking.

“Do you think it’s me?” Fenris flicked a hand lazy through the mage’s drying hair.

“You are making no sense, mage. Is what you?” Anders swatted Fenris’ hand away, sitting up to look over at the elf. He looked more relaxed than Anders had ever seen him before. It was a good look on him, Anders decided, but this was serious.

“Do you think that you’re losing control of your wolf shape because of me? Because you’ve been spending time with me, and magic?” Fenris propped himself on one elbow and shrugged lazily.

“Possible, I suppose. But it has never happened that way before. I spent a great deal of time around magisters when I was a slave, and I never lost control then. Only when Danarius forced it, and that…it caused a great deal of pain. There has been no pain.” Having said his piece, he flopped back onto the ground again, one arm stretching up to cushion his head. Anders took a deep breath.

“Well, that’s a relief. I was worried that it was my fault somehow,” Anders gave the elf a weak smile and lay back beside him.

“You worry too much. It is probably just a side effect of my current weakness. Speaking of which, maybe we should hunt. I am rather hungry,” Fenris rubbed a hand over his belly, still too thin, and sighed. “It would be nice to just lay here, though.” Rarely did Fenris ever let himself relax so entirely. There was always something keeping him alert, some fear hounding his sleep. The realisation of how safe he felt with the mage was not unwelcome.

“Maybe you should try changing now – on purpose. Perhaps if you control the change to wolf, then you’ll be able to control the change back again. Maybe you just need to get some command over the process again.” Anders blinked hair out of his eyes, turning to face Fenris.

“Mmm…It couldn’t hurt to try.” There was that rippling effect again, and instead of an elf, a wolf lay beside the man. Muzzle lifted, it looked over itself curiously. Fenris stood, shaking out his fur, before licking a long stripe up Anders’ face. Anders let out an undignified yelp, wiping wolf saliva off his chin and thumping Fenris on the flank with a laugh. Another ripple, and the elf was back to himself again. He seemed surprised, and Anders laughed again at the disbelieving look on his face.

“That was…surprisingly successful,” he rumbled. “And I am not sorry,” he danced out of the way of Anders hands, skipping backwards with a chuckle.

“Fenris, I never knew you were such a tease,” Anders groused, still rubbing at his face.

“There are many things you do not know about me,” Fenris replied. “There are most likely many things that I do not know about myself.” With that, the moment was broken, and Fenris pulled his clothes on in silence, while Anders did the same. Readying themselves, they stood to begin the trek back. This time it was Fenris who reached for Anders’ hand, and they were both smiling as they made their way through the forest, headed for Kirkwall.

\----------------

Hawke had taken the bit between his teeth and headed to Anders’ clinic first thing in the morning. The smell of smoke hit him as he headed into Darktown, but he thought nothing of it, probably just cooking fires. It wasn’t until he stepped off the lift and began choking in the smoky air that he realised something more than breakfast was burning – something big. He looked around, people were fleeing from the smoke, heading for the lift. He bulled his way past them, and started heading the opposite direction. If people needed help, then he would give it to them.

Racing against the tide of fleeing people, Hawke didn’t pay any attention at first to where his feet were leading him. That changed in a hurry as he headed down the flight of stairs heading to Anders’ clinic. Ahead of him, at the top of the next flight, he could see flames. The entire clinic was on fire, the doors were alight, hanging from warped hinges. “No. No,no,no. ANDERS!” Hawke yelled, coughing as he breathed in the stinging, heated air and smoke. “ANDERS!” There was no reply, and at this point he didn’t really expect one. There was no doubt in his mind that this had been done intentionally.

He tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt, soaking it with water from his flask, and tying it around the lower part of his face. His eyes stang and watered, and he held an arm up before his face. The back half of the clinic had burned out, only embers and smoke remained. Hawke leaped over a burning cot, using his daggers to push aside other burning debris as he made his way back to the area where Anders slept. Nothing. Just the smoking remains of another cot, and ashes. Exploded potion bottles had left the floor littered with glass that crunched under his feet.

There! Underneath the bed. A flash of colour. A pair of warped boards had twisted back from the floor in the heat, exposing a hidden cache underneath. Hawke swore as the heat burned his hands through his leather gloves as he tore back the floorboards. A pillow. A couple of lyrium potions that had exploded in the heat, spraying the interior with a weird blue glow. A copy of Anders’ manifesto, stuffed underneath the rest and with pages that had curled and yellowed. He grabbed the pillow and the manuscript, shaking off the biggest pieces of glass. The combination of smoke and heat were beginning to overcome him now, and he was coughing uncontrollably. He staggered back towards the entrance.

A burning cot collapsed in front of him as he got close to the entrance, and he stumbled. Hawke landed hard, head hitting the ground. He clutched the pillow and the manuscript against his chest, determined to save what he could for Anders – wherever he was. There was a shout from the doorway, and Hawke raised his head, face red and blistered from proximity to the heated rock floor. Varric! Bless the dwarf. Hawke dragged himself forward with a groan until he felt Varric’s strong hands grab at his shoulders and drag him out. He knew nothing else.

\-------------------

Loam gave way to scraggly grass, then sand, as Fenris and Anders made their way back along the Wounded Coast. It had been a long afternoon of walking. Anders had brought down a rabbit with a blast of lightning, successfully roasting the poor beast as well as killing it. The two were currently gnawing on the last of the bones, and licking the grease from their fingers. Fenris flung the last bone, and it skittered along the sand until a curious gull swooped down and snatched it up.

Kirkwall lay ahead, and the two kept walking until they reached the docks, heading straight from there into Darktown. The smell of stale smoke was still in the air, and they shared a look before breaking into a run towards Anders clinic. If there had been a fire then certainly there would be burns victims waiting for their Healer to arrive. It wasn’t until they had reached the last flight of stairs that they saw the burnt doors, the chaos within. Anders let out a moan of distress, dashing inside.

Behind him he heard Fenris, “Vishante kaffar!” And then the elf was beside him, taking his free hand. Anders crumpled, taking in the sight of the utter destruction of everything he had worked so hard to create. The floor was still warm, but everything was ash and cinders. Not a single cot or crate had survived. Fenris knelt on the floor by Anders, holding the mage in his arms as he shook with grief and anger. Light flickered along his brands as Anders’ eyes flashed blue, cracks appearing in his skin. “Hush, Anders, you are losing control. Come, you will stay with me until we can find a way to fix this.” Anders let Fenris pull him to his feet, but when Fenris pulled on his arm, Anders yanked it away. He headed frantically for the back of his clinic.

When Fenris joined him, he found him slumped over a hole between boards, tears on his face. “It’s all gone,” he muttered, dragging his fingers through the still warm ashes. Tiny pieces of burnt paper flitted up into the air and drifted down to coat the backs of his hands. Fenris said nothing. There was nothing to say. He gathered Anders into his arms, holding him as his shoulders shuddered in an attempt to pull himself together.

“Come, Anders. If anyone knows what happened here it will be Varric. Then you will come back to the mansion with me and bathe. Will you…I would be pleased if you would stay with me.” Anders sighed deeply against Fenris’ shoulder, then gave a shaky nod.

“You do know how to cheer a man up,” he joked, but it fell flat, the tracks of tears on his soot-dusted face giving the lie to the humour. Fenris went to wipe his face, then thought better of it. His gauntlets would do nothing to clean up the mess. Anders scrubbed at his face with the back of his arm and together they headed to Lowtown and Hanged Man.


	8. Red and Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PDA number 1!

Varric wasn’t at his usual table when they arrived, so they wove their way through drunks, and grumpy waitresses, up to his suite at the top of the stairs. Varric wasn’t in his usual spot at the table, and Fenris had barely announced their presence when he rushed through from the bedroom.

“Blondie! You’ve been missed,” Varric had hustled them into his bedroom before either had a chance to speak. Hawke was sprawled on Varric’s bed, feet hanging from the end. He was coughing, wheezing really, eyes reddened and he stank of stale smoke and sweat. Anders was moving towards him when he found his wrist wrapped tight in Fenris’ unbreakable grasp. The look on Fenris’ face was fierce.

“Fenris! Let go of me, I need to…” Anders stopped short as Fenris snarled.

“You need do nothing! Anders, he hurt you.” Anders turned, an irritate remark on his lips, and instantly folded under the full-force of Fenris’ puppy eyes. Varric had taken out a notebook and was scribbling away intently.

“Fen…I’m fine. I’m a healer, I have to check on Hawke. Don’t worry, I won’t let him hit me again.” This last was said with a pout and a glower towards Hawke, who waved weakly between coughs. Hawke’s eyes widened as Fenris stalked up behind Anders, gripping his arms tightly before peering over his shoulders at Hawke.

“If he tries to hurt you again, he will deal with me. And I am not as forgiving as you are,” Fenris scowled at Hawke fiercely before releasing Anders. Eyes-wide, Hawke looked past the pair to Varric, eyebrows raised as though to ask ‘Are you getting all of this?’ Varric just whistled silently between his teeth and kept writing.

Anders, free to move again, slid forward onto his knees, hands held out over Hawke, as a wash of blue healing magic slid from his hands. “You got caught up in the fire at…at my clinic?” Anders asked, voice hitching only a little. Hawke nodded, chest no longer heaving as Anders healed the damage caused by smoke-inhalation. He sat up, taking deep, grateful breaths, and reached behind him to pass Anders the pillow and manuscript that he had retrieved.

“My pillow!” Anders ignored the manuscript entirely in favour of grabbing on to his pillow and squeezing it to his chest. If the others had been less used to Anders’ easy display of emotions, they might have been discomfited when he started to cry. As it was, when Anders tearfully threw himself at Hawke and hugged him, nobody batted an eyelash. Varric scribbled a little more. Fenris scowled at Hawke some more. Hawke coughed, but not due to the smoke damage this time.

“Uh, sorry. Hawke. I owe you for this. It’s…It was the only thing that the Templars let me take to the Circle with me. My mother made it.” He stroked one hand tenderly across the little yellow flowers dotting the red pillow, words in Anders embroidered between them. Anders took a shaky breath and stood, turning to Fenris. “My pillow!” he declared with a proud smile on his face.

“Fool mage,” Fenris replied, voice gruff, but before Anders’ smile could falter, he was pulled into strong, lean arms, pillow trapped between them. Anders felt the urge to giggle, and stifled it before the sound could escape. Fenris was hugging him – in front of their friends. Suddenly he felt emotional about more than just the pillow. More than the fact that his clinic was gone. He wriggled a hand free to wrap around Fenris’ waist and held tightly to him.

“Any other emergencies you need the healer to see to?” asked Fenris, glowering at Hawke and Varric as though daring them to say a word. Varric cleared his throat, and succumbing to the urge to hide what he had been writing. He casually let his hands drift behind his back, clasping them around the parchment.

“Well, actually, it might be a good idea for Blondie to have a look at Rivaini. Rage demon got her good up on Sundermount,” Varric cleared his throat, watching intently as Anders looked up at Fenris, for all the world as if he were asking permission. Fenris simply raised one elegant eyebrow at him.

“Right. Isabela,” Anders cleared his throat, wriggling free of Fenris’ arms. “In her room?” A simple nod from Varric had him skittering down the hallway, swiping at his face with one sleeve as he went. Fenris took a step towards Hawke. Another. Hawke, still laying on the bed, was beginning to feel at a distinct disadvantage. He was struggling with the blankets, trying to push himself up when Fenris hand closed over his collarbone and clenched tight.

“Anders is under my protection, Hawke. You are my friend, and I do not wish for that to change. But touch the mage again and you will see what it feels like to lose one of your important organs. Do we have an agreement?” Face fierce, Fenris waited until Hawke dumbly nodded, before releasing him.

“So?” began Varric.

“Not another word, dwarf.” Varric raised his hands in surrender. “K, Broody, no need to glow at me,” he chuckled as he watched Fenris leave, following in Anders’ footsteps. “Bet you didn’t see that coming, hey Hawke?” Hawke could only manage a grimace, and a few choice swear words.

\--------------------


	9. White and White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyrium warriors x 2!

When Fenris entered Isabela’s room, Anders was kneeling at the bedside healing her. She looked well and cheerful enough, but there was evidence of the large burn on her hip and thigh, evidence that was rapidly fading as Anders’ healing magic swirled over her side. She appeared to be completely naked, just the edge of a sheet draped haphazardly over her waist, and a pillow clutched to her breasts. Anders didn’t even appear to notice, but Fenris coughed awkwardly before muttering “I will wait outside,” and leaving the room to stand guard at the door. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Isabela naked, but her casual displays of nudity bothered him all the same. He preferred to be covered – his leathers hid what he could of the tattoos, as well as giving him a level of protection.

He closed the door behind him, leaning against it to keep an eye out for trouble. It gave him a moment to ponder, and his thoughts went straight to Anders. His clinic, his home, utterly destroyed. And yet here he was immediately helping others when by rights he should be taking care of himself. Fenris’ fingers twitched. He hoped that Anders would agree to stay with him at the mansion. It wasn’t much of a home, broken down and filled with mushrooms and dead bodies, but…maybe together they could make it one. The click of the door-latch heralded Anders’ exit from Isabela’s room. He was holding his pillow tightly in one hand.

Fenris turned to him, one hand reaching up to stroke stray strands of hair from Anders’ face, and he was rewarded with an easy, open smile. “I am sorry for what happened to your clinic, Anders,” he said, then regretted it as the smile faded from Anders’ face. “Will you…I would like it if you came to stay with me,” the last words came out in a rushed stammer. Anders bent his head to drop a kiss on Fenris’ forehead.

“I’d like that too,” he said, simply. “But first…I want to ask Varric what happened at the clinic.” Fenris inclined his head towards Varric’s room, and they went to question him.

It had been Templars, of course. They had sent a patrol down to Darktown, specifically looking for the apostate healer. Upon finding him missing, they had torn his clinic apart. Anders shuddered, relieved that he had put his manuscript away and that they hadn’t found it. After taking the slightly charred, lyrium drizzled papers from Varric they left together.

\-------------

Hightown was quiet, the large courtyards painted with silver moonlight. The short passageway to the mansion’s front door was dark and deserted. Fenris reached for the doorknob, and snatched his hand away as if burnt. Anders, coming up behind him hadn’t noticed anything, and was surprised when Fenris blocked him with an arm, and a terse command to stay outside. He watched as Fenris opened the door partway, slipping his sword from his back as he padded inside on silent feet.

Anders was wondering if Fenris always entered the mansion this way, when first one, then another brilliant flash of white lit up the doorway. This was going to do nothing for the rumours that the place was haunted. There was a blood-curdling scream, and Anders sprang into action, suddenly realising that there was a problem. The foyer lit up with another ghostly light as he pushed his way inside, and this time the light didn’t fade. He felt his jaw drop, and for a moment stood, stunned, unable to take in what was happening before him.

Fenris was lit up like an elf-shaped beacon, his figure semi-translucent, and a his face a rictus of fury and pain. He swept his sword around in a whirling attack. It was directed at the lyrium warrior facing him, a human, female and lit up, like Fenris, with the ghostly light of lyrium brands. Anders gripped his staff tightly, trying to get an opening to send a lightning attack without injuring Fenris. The human lyrium warrior was wearing a short, split-skirt of leather, and a tight leather vest. Like Fenris, her hair was the pure-white that appeared to result from the ritual. The lyrium lines that he could see weren’t the delicate, elegant swirls and lines that covered Fenris. Instead they were an angry geometry of jagged, ugly lines. She was armed with a short sword and a dagger, and was currently dancing out of reach of Fenris’ longer blade. The two moved so swiftly with the lyrium activated that Anders couldn’t get a clear shot.

Anders couldn’t wait. As he watched, the human dashed forward with the speed of a Fade-step, something Anders had only ever seen Fenris do before. Her arm was outstretched, and Fenris’ sword was at the end of a swinging arc. It was horribly apparent that her hand was going to enter Fenris’ chest before he could recover from the stroke. Anders panicked, casting a paralysis glyph with the largest diameter that he could manage. There were two furious shouts, one pitched high in a scream, the other a deep and rumbling growl.

The power that the lyrium gave the warriors left them partially immune to the effects of magic, and the paralysis glyph didn’t stop them, but it did slow them dramatically. There was a bare moment when Anders had the chance to act and he took it. “I’ll show you why mages are feared,” he yelled as he cast a lightning bolt at the female warrior. She shrieked, her brands brightening so much that Anders couldn’t see for a moment. When he opened his eyes again, she was fallen, and Fenris was taking her heart.

Anders thought his own heart would stop when Fenris turned to look at him. Battle-rage still painted his features, and Anders took a step back before planting his feet firmly. “Fenris! Fenris, she’s dead! Are you injured?” As he spoke, Fenris’ expression gradually relaxed, and a moment later, Anders was rushing forward to heal the nasty gash that swept from the top of his rib-cage, across his torso and down to the opposite hip. Fenris snarled as the healing magic touched him, and Anders apologised automatically. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just trying to help!” he yelped. He almost leaped back when he felt Fenris hand on his shoulder, but instead of the half-expected retaliation, Fenris’ hand simply rested on his shoulder.

Anders looked up, unable to completely quell his fearful expression, but there was no anger left on Fenris’ face. “Thank you, Anders. She would have…” he glanced at the dead woman. “She almost had me. I wonder if she is another of Danarius? This does not look like his work.” Fenris looked down dispassionately at the new corpse decorating the floor of the foyer. The woman’s face was frozen in a grimace, her limbs contorted where the lightning had contracted her muscles. Up close, the lyrium brands looked even worse. Not only was the pattern ugly, but it didn’t cover her body as completely as Fenris’ did. Large parts of her arms and legs were free of the marks, and where the brands did mark her, the edges weren’t the clean dark lines that outlined Fenris’ brands, but almost fuzzy, as though the lyrium had been poured into an imperfect mould.

Anders shuddered. What had been done to Fenris was disgusting, but at least it hadn’t been the horrible mess that this woman had had to live with. He thought for a moment of Fenris’ fears that Anders would see his body as mutilated – was this how Fenris saw himself? He desperately hoped not. “I can’t believe that other people practise this art too. I was hoping Danarius was the only person sick enough to do this to a person,” he trailed off, suddenly realising that maybe that wasn’t what Fenris wanted to hear – it certainly didn’t sound complimentary.

“Pfaugh. There are others, though we are very few. To have sent one for me…if she is not Danarius’ creation then he has paid very dearly to have her sent. And will pay more when she fails to return.” Fenris looked to Anders, looking weary. He stretched out a hand. “Come mage, we both need a bath. You shall bathe with me.” Anders wasn’t stupid enough to decline the offer.


	10. Aquamarine and Beige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy, getting to know you type chapter. Last chapter for this section.

The bathing room was enormous. Anders looked around wide-eyed. It was Tevinter style, obviously designed for multiple people to bathe at once. The central bath was full of swirling, steaming water. Gratings within the sides of the bath appeared to lead to pipes, allowing the water to flow continuously. Fenris was undressing, carefully unbuckling his breast plate and gauntlets, laying them on a tiled bench to the side. The entire lower half of the room was tiled, soft beige tiles with a crisp aquamarine border lined the walls, darker brown tiles the floor.

“Maker, Fenris! How does this…” Anders stuck a hand into the water, and yelped mid-sentence. It was hot! Fenris chuckled, low and sinful.

“There is a spring beneath the mansion. I don’t know the mechanics, but dwarven plumbing allows the water to be pumped up into the pool, and then flow out again. It is convenient.”

“Convenient! I think you may never get me out of this room. I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this a secret. It’s amazing!” Fenris frowned a little as Anders looked up.

“It is not a secret…I am…,” Fenris ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, trying to find the right words. “All that I remember of my life is of being a slave, and then being on the run. Slaves are not permitted this kind of luxury, and the life of a fugitive is not easy – as you know. I find it…difficult…to let people into my private spaces,” he stopped, peering up at Anders through his white hair.

“I’m honoured, Fenris,” Anders said softly. Rather than let Fenris become self-conscious, Anders began stripping off his clothes.

A small series of steps led into the pool, which took up a large part of the room. To the left was another, smaller bath, and to the right a long bench where Fenris deposited their clothes before stepping into the heated water. He held out his hand to Anders, coaxing him down the steps and into the bath, smirking when Anders gasped at the heat and his skin began to redden. When they were both seated, the water reached their shoulders, and Anders groaned as the heat began to relax his muscles. He slid bonelessly deeper, until his head dipped below the water, and he let himself float there for a moment.

Fenris, much more brusquely, slid his head under the water and back out. Smoothing the wet strands back from his forehead, he grabbed a handful of soft soap that he kept on the ledge, massaging it into his hair. He rinsed off the foam, then hesitated for a moment. Anders looked so peaceful, laying back with his head resting on the side of the bath, he appeared to be almost asleep. Fenris took another handful of soap, and softly began to work it into Anders’ hair.

Anders eyes popped open in surprise. “Fenris…you don’t need to…” he stopped short. He didn’t want this to be linked to any memories of slavery for Fenris, but on the other hand, those long, strong fingers gently massaging his scalp felt so good. Fenris just smiled at him.

“Hush mage, I want to take care of you.”

“Well…alright then. Feels so good Fenris,” he murmured. There was another long moment of bliss as hands massaged the tension from his temples, the base of his neck. Without warning, two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and pushed him hard, under the water. He came up spluttering, to find Fenris, arms wrapped around his stomach and laughing with abandon.

“Demon elf!” he sputtered, spitting out bubbles, and then the fight was on. Anders cheated, using a tiny wave of force magic to push a mini-tsunami of water at Fenris, knocking him off his feet and into the water. Fenris retaliated by grabbing Anders’ ankles while he was down and pulling him down. Attacked from below! Anders fell, scraping his back against the tiled edge of the bath on the way down, and inadvertently gasping in water. He slapped Fenris’ hands away and came up coughing for air.

The change in Fenris’ demeanour was immediate. He rushed to Anders’ side, turning him so that he could see the thin trickle of blood running down his back, a large graze already beginning to bruise on Anders’ fair skin. “I’m so sorry. Anders! Heal yourself.” He spun the mage back around, almost frantically, staring into his face with sad, frightened eyes, stuttered apologies still falling from his lips. Anders bit his lip, not quite understanding why Fenris was so upset – it was only a scratch, and hadn’t been meant to happen. This was a definite turn-around from having Fenris’ fingers clenching around his heart – a good one, he decided, sending a wave of healing trickling to the small wound.

“Fenris, Fenris, it’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it,” he soothed, pulling the elf close to him. He could feel Fenris thin frame shaking in his arms, and ducked down so he could look him in the eyes. Fenris turned his head away.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I’m a monster,” he muttered, dragging himself from the deep bath he grabbed a towel and held it out to wrap Anders in it before getting one for himself.

“Fen, look at me. You’re not a monster. You’re a very sexy elf and I want you.” Fenris ears twitched and flushed at the sudden change of topic, and he felt Anders’ arms come up to wrap around his waist.

“I am…I…We will eat. Then we will talk,” Fenris pronounced, trying to get his thoughts back on solid ground. Anders body was almost hot against his back, still retaining the heat of the water, and he wanted…but he would talk to the mage first. Yes, food first, then talking. He pulled himself away and headed to the bedroom to find some clothes.

\-----------

Dinner was simple. Fenris didn’t keep much food in the mansion, preferring to buy it at the markets as he needed it. He grabbed a couple of bread rolls, an avocado, and sliced a few strips of a piece of smoked bacon that was hanging in the larder. An apple each and tea completed the meal. Anders was silent during their meal, stealing glances at Fenris from time to time. It wasn’t difficult to tell that Fenris was troubled. He ate mechanically, eyes barely lifting from his food.

Anders was troubled too. His thoughts circled around on themselves. Fenris had been so upset when Anders had been hurt, but he knew that Fenris had seem him receive far worse injuries in battle. Justice was a constant in his mind tonight. Still enamoured of Fenris, Justice was nevertheless concerned with his actions. He nudged Anders, pointing out that Fenris had backed away from physical contact with them more than once. Anders frowned a little, thinking hard as he chewed on a mouthful of apple. This…thing…with Fenris was so delicate still, so new. He didn’t want to spoil it by pushing too hard, or by holding back if Fenris wanted more. He was trying to decide upon a good middle ground when Fenris finally cleared his throat and spoke.

“You know that I was Danarius’ bodyguard. That he made me into this…this weapon. He used me to intimidate, and to kill, to punish his enemies and other slaves alike,” Fenris’ eyes slid up to Anders, and then away as Anders gave a cautious nod. “He…I wasn’t just his bodyguard.” Anders felt his stomach drop, afraid he knew what was coming. “I was his pet. He kept me chained and collared like a dog. He…used me…however he saw fit,” Fenris’ eyes met Anders again, and he felt his heart break a little at the misery he saw there. “I thought,” Fenris hands clenched hard, a muscle twitching in his jaw. he took a deep breath and started again. “He was the only thing I knew. He took my memories and made sure that he was the only one I heard any praise from. He would have Hadriana inflict my punishments so that he was the one I expected comfort from. I thought he loved me,” he laughed hollowly. “I thought I loved him. Fasta vass. This is…difficult to talk about.” There was nothing Anders could say that would take these memories away, and he didn’t want to prod for more than Fenris wanted to tell him. He reached out a hand and covered one clenched fist with it, pleased when Fenris opened his palm and squeezed his hand lightly.

“I want you to know, Fenris. I’m not him. I’ll never hurt you on purpose. I don’t want anything from you that you’re not ready to give. When I was in solitary for that year, there were visits from Templars, eventually. They waited until I was desperate for any human contact, just to hear voices, to feel something. I needed to feel alive. They raped me, and I begged them to do it. Even pain was better than nothing.” Fenris grip on his hand had tightened, and he was watching Anders with a look that Anders had rarely seen on his face – understanding.

“I was lucky though. I had Karl to help me through it afterwards. He helped me to heal, not just physically. Taught me what it was like to…to not fear pleasure, and touch after what had happened to me.” Anders met Fenris’ eyes. “I don’t think that you had anyone to do that for you,” it wasn’t a question, but Fenris nodded in reply. Anders uncurled their fingers, stroking the back of Fenris’ hand. “I would like to be that person, Fenris. For you. I want to make you feel so good that those memories are clearer than the memories of pain. But I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” he smiled, and Fenris gave a lopsided little smile back. “Now…we don’t have to talk about this anymore unless you want to, but…can I ask you a question?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you get so upset when I fell over and scraped my back?” Fenris looked up at him, eyes wide. “Is it because I’m a mage? Did you think I was going to punish you? Because I wouldn’t do that.” Fenris shook his head a little, staring down at his lap. He cleared his throat roughly before speaking in a whisper that Anders could barely hear.

“I don’t like hurting people,” was all he said, before Anders was rushing to his side. Fenris hid his face in Anders shoulder, and Anders could feel Fenris tears dampening his shirt. He said nothing, running one hand soothingly up and down Fenris’ side, holding him while he wept. Justice was trying to push forwards – had been since Fenris had begun telling them his tale, but Anders pushed him firmly back. Imagine, he thought, never knowing what you might have been. Fenris as a boy may have wanted to be a florist, a baker, a tailor. He may have wanted to look after the slave’s children, he certainly had a more gentle and compassionate side to him than Anders had ever expected. And instead, he’d been forced to become a magister’s weapon of killing and intimidation. Anders felt like weeping himself. Instead he stood them both up, taking Fenris’ hand and leading them to bed.

Fenris curled up against him as soon as they lay down, and rippled into his wolf shape. Anders patted the wolf absently, stroking his soft, black fur until he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, please feel free to bribe me for more by donating towards a cup of coffee! https://ko-fi.com/A20836M (also please feel free to request anything at my tumblr - shinyhill.tumblr.com!


End file.
